


Limerence

by wellthengetouttathesoupaisle



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andreil, M/M, More tags will be added later, Multi, Some Fluff, andrew centric, exy is still kevins no. 1 priority, foster care au where andrew kevin and neil all end up together, it makes sense I promise, multiple OCs - Freeform, neil is a mouthy little shit, slight kandreil, very angsty u have been warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2018-10-12 21:52:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10500174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellthengetouttathesoupaisle/pseuds/wellthengetouttathesoupaisle
Summary: He has two sets of marbles he does not let anyone touch. One blue, one green. No one really cares about the hazel ones, but that's okay because he'd rather just fade into the background anyway. He—...In which Andrew was never alone, not really.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! This is my first tfc multi-chaptered fic with an idea I've been sitting on for months. I've always liked the idea of Andrew, Neil, and Kevin growing up together in foster care, and even though I was never sure how it would even work, I started writing anyway and the plot sort of came to me as I went. 
> 
> Parts of this are pre-written, but I can't promise regular updates because of my own crazy schedule and the fact that my updating habits aren't very reliable :) The story stays pretty innocent for a while, but I will make sure to post trigger warnings later on, so please look for those.
> 
> Let me know if I miss anything in particular or make any mistakes. I'm open to criticism, especially when it comes to improvement in any sense. I hope you enjoy!

Neil's eyes are pretty.

It's a cold Monday morning in California, the sky unusually gray and drizzly, they're all sitting at the long table in the mess hall eating bland oatmeal that needs sugar and maybe a few chocolate chips, and Andrew notices Neil's eyes.

They're blue, so blue like the marbles he hides in his sock drawer where the other kids won't find them. He wonders what Neil's eyes would look like if they were marbles. Like ice, maybe. Like that one jewel he read about in his library book, sapphire. Blue star sapphire, 3 carats. He remembers.

Andrew stirs his oatmeal. It sticks to his spoon like goo, like the chewing gum Sarah got stuck in her hair last week and had to chop off. He wishes he had some brown sugar to flavor it like Tom does, but Tom steals it from the pantry and whenever Andrew tries he gets caught. Tom quietly tears open his sugar packet and sprinkles it over his bowl. He does not get caught.

It's unfair. If he can not have Neil's eyes, he should at least get some brown sugar.

Noor is coughing again. Noor is the one child who is perpetually sick. Andrew knows it's because she arrived with a cold, and the unforgiving conditions of the building furthered it into pneumonia. She spits up oatmeal all over her tray with each hack, then cries when she coughs up a tooth as well. He wrinkles his nose and vows never to relinquish any of his baby teeth.

 _Plop, plop._ His oatmeal plops back into his bowl. He isn't very hungry anymore. He's too busy watching Neil's pretty eyes as they stare out the window.

He rolls a blueberry around in his thumb, pretending it's a special marble, and drops it on the floor when his hand slips. The Adult in the room, a pinched old lady, slaps his knuckles for wasting food. He steps on it with his foot to spite her and feels it squelch. Eyeball juice. He cringes and the Adult hits him again. No one bothers to react to that. It's a common occurrence.

Andrew rubs at his new stinging mark, picks up his spoon, and shovels in another mouthful of oatmeal in an attempt to get it all down. It smears all over his mouth. Neil is now watching him from his spot directly to his left. He lowers his lids and wipes it off with his napkin.

"Ew," Neil offers, before returning to the window. Andrew frowns.

Kevin scrapes his bowl clean across from Andrew and sits back in his chair, inspecting his fingers as is his odd quirk before twisting them up in the hem of his shirt. He doesn't speak a word. Kevin doesn't like to talk until after lunch.

Actually, Kevin doesn't much like to talk at all unless it's about the fast-rising sport, Exy. He claims that his parents probably loved the sport so much they had no time to look after him, which is why they gave him up. Kevin also has no idea who his parents are.

Neither does Andrew. Neither does Neil.

Andrew wonders, though. Did his parents give him up willingly? Did he have any siblings? He wishes he had a brother, but he supposes Neil and Kevin will do.

There is nothing to do while breakfast finishes. He inspects the dirt under his tiny fingernails and meticulously picks them clean. He counts his fingers and toes in his head. There are still five on each hand and foot, much to his frustration. It would be more interesting if the numbers changed each day.

The other kids eat dutifully. After breakfast, they will separate for their lessons. Andrew is five and Neil is four, so they remain together in their group, but Kevin is six and has to follow the older kids to the elementary school located across the street from the Home. Kevin always hates leaving them. Andrew hates that next year he'll be six too and Neil will be alone.

He sits back, mimicking Kevin. He glances at Neil, but his eyes remain trained on the window as though something in the barren courtyard has captured his attention. Andrew sneaks a look out there but there's nothing but gray rain. The walls of the mess hall are also gray. The floor is hardwood but it's gone discolored with dust. Even the Adult lady is gray, gray suit, gray slacks, gray hair. He wonders if one day, he'll be just as gray and rickety as the rest of them.

That's why he likes Neil's eyes. Kevin's too, green against his cocoa skin. Those are his special things, his lucky marbles. He does not let the other children admire them. Only him.

"Can I have your strawberries?" Neil asks him, red mouth pursed as he swallows his nectarine slices whole.

Andrew passes them over.

—

"You'll love it here," Mrs. Williams says, smiling nervously. She is a ferret, twitchy and anxious, fingers tapping out an irregular beat on the steering wheel. The distrust stirs immediately.

He sits in the backseat, the window rolled down as far as it can go. He's not hot in the slightest, but the bad ones unfailingly snap at him to close it.

The ferret meets his eyes in the rearview window as they drive down the highway. Her lips curl back frighteningly in a poor attempt at a pleasant grin. She has awfully long front teeth. "Aren't you chilly, dear?"

There it is.

He stares at her wordlessly, tugging at the seat belt she secured much too tightly across his waist. The air blows his feathery blond hair into clumps that stick out all over his head.

"Why don't we roll that up, sweetheart?" She prods through tightened lips. Her manicured fingers tap faster and faster against the wheel. The bright pink nails remind him dangerously of claws. Andrew can practically see her rethinking the whole childcare gig. He knows then, that he won't last the week.

The ferret sighs in relief when he finally acquiesces and the obnoxiously loud wind abruptly cuts off. "My, you're a feisty one." Her long teeth clamp in the rearview mirror.

He meets her eyes and carefully wipes his face blank. She shudders.

In the twenty minute car ride that follows, he learns that she and her husband are planning on having their first child, and are looking into 'practice before the real deal.' She smiles her scary smile again and promises him once again that they'll all get along quite nicely.

Andrew responds by kicking his shoes off onto the floor. He waits for her reaction. She smiles.

He tilts his head and gives her a hint of a wicked grin.

They pull up in her driveway and Andrew registers, _oh. Oh no_. It's a nestled suburban home, white and quaint with columns and ivy. The lines in the grass are straight as though someone measured them with a ruler and the stones lining her walkway are raked into neat rows he can hardly wait to kick into disarray. There's another shined up vehicle parked in her two-car garage and he bets his favorite marbles she has a fancy china set inside, polished and placed on wooden plaques like untouchable relics.

The ferret gets out of the car and walks towards the door before remembering that he is in the car and jerks to a halt, high heels clacking. She trips her way back to the back seat and holds the door open for him, licking her lips nervously. Andrew shoulders his small bag and slides from his seat, his abandoned shoes in his other hand.

She looks down in disapproval at his white-socked feet but does not comment. Their bottoms grow black as he follows her to the door and pauses just outside. The ferret fumbles with her keys before inserting them into the lock.

It swings open and Andrew's stomach clenches. The wood floors are polished. His first instinct is to scuff them.

But he does not, and instead crosses the threshold with the ferret as her husband ventures out of the kitchen. He's tall and pale and thin with mousy brown locks and a receding hairline. "Hi there, bud," he says in a friendly voice, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. "My name's Rick, but feel free to call me whatever you want."

"Dear," the ferret says in a strained voice. She glances down at Andrew.

Her husband frowns at her before shaking his head in resignation. "Well, why don't we start with Mr. Williams?" His wife looks relieved.

Andrew officially dubs him Rat. "Yes sir."

"Yes, _Mr. Williams_ ," the ferret corrects him, attempting to sound kind but coming across as horribly condescending.

"Yes Mr. Williams," Andrew repeats blandly.

"I think you'll love it here," Rat tells him, parroting the words his wife uttered just minutes prior. Then they stand there awkwardly, smiling with altogether too many teeth. Andrew lowers his initial estimate from a week to three days. He's gotten scarily good at this, figuring how long he'll remain in each foster home.

"Where do I put my things?" He finally asks. His arm is tired and his shoulder is sore from the strap of his bag digging into his too-thin frame. He's hungry and thirsty and he desperately needs to pee. He makes a note to ask them which bathroom he can use. The woman at the last home he stayed in hit him the first time he used her personal toilet.

"Of course," the ferret remembers, perking up. "I'll show you to your room."

He trudges up the staircase after her and already misses Neil and Kevin. They all share a bed in their tiny room, curling against each other for warmth and solace on the lonely nights, reminding themselves that someone is always at their back. Andrew despised it at first, but now he cannot fathom a night in the Home alone.

His new room is big; light blue walls and a four poster bed with a heavy comforter; a chestnut brown dresser and a wide mirror above it; a window with the curtains pulled back so the sun can stream into the room, dappling the thick rug with speckles of yellow.

Despite its soft rays Andrew hates the place. It is too large for a single person, too much space that he is not accustomed to having. His scant bag of belongings will barely fill up a single drawer and the sheer magnitude of the bed will swallow him whole. He shifts uneasily from foot to foot.

"Well?" The ferret asks him tentatively, her face tight. "Do you like it? It used to be the guest room, but we've fixed it up, just for you." She gives Andrew's head a little pat at the end of her little ramble, and he barely withholds a flinch.

"Yes," he finally answers, and then because he remembers his manners the Adults at the Home so brutally drilled into him, "Thank you, ma'am."

"Absolutely," the ferret says benevolently, looking infinitely pleased with herself. He is distinctly reminded of a squirrel coming across an acorn. "You can do whatever you like now, until dinner. We'll talk some more then." She clacks out of the room, still wearing her high heels, and disappears down the staircase.

He watches her go and remembers then he forgot to ask her about the bathroom. But she's just gone and he doesn't want to risk her wrath for what she might consider a trivial question.

So instead he creeps out into the hall and catches sight of a bathroom at the farthest end. He hesitates for a moment, deliberating, before the need to pee wins out and he dashes to the open door.

Andrew relieves himself as quickly as he can and flushes the toilet, washing his hands under the cover of the draining water. Then he yanks his pants back up and hightails it back to the bedroom, hands still dripping wet. He perches upon the bed and waits silently, straining his ears for any telltale footsteps on their way to berate him for his wrongdoings.

None arrive, but the threat of it lurks like a sinister shadow, suffocating him with its smoky tendrils of falsities and long white teeth. He wants to leave this Rodent infested place, no matter how pretty his bedroom and the front lawn and the high ivy columns are.

He curls up on the too-large bed and rocks back and forth, back and forth, counts his fingers and toes. Ten fingers, ten toes, twenty in all like the day before that and the day before that and the day before that.

He likes discord, not conformity.

The sun yawns and dilates through the open window, afternoon light fading to the dusk of evening. The chestnut dresser casts a dark outline across the room, reaching for Andrew little by little as the horizon slowly vanishes with the setting sun, and still the ferret and her rat husband remain downstairs, clanging around in the kitchen. His other families rarely left him alone for this long, but Andrew decides this is only representative of their naivety.

"Andrew!" The ferret finally calls an hour later, and he is somewhat relieved to leave his dimming bedroom. "Come down for dinner!"

Andrew ventures down the stairs, peers into the kitchen, and sees the dry white chicken smoking on the stovetop. He is slid a plate filled with peas, carrots, mash, and meat. They are organized like a clockwork, equally spread apart on the plate.

Rat and the Ferret clasp their hands together in what looks like a brief prayer before daintily spearing the chicken and dunking it into the potatoes. Andrew stirs his food all together so that his mash is a mushy mixture of steamed vegetables. The ferret frowns and Rat clears his throat.

He does not want his supper. Who doesn't season chicken, anyway? Even the cooks at the home have more taste than that. He tells her this. She scowls and Rat touches her arm placatingly.

They watch him as he spoons a bite of potato and carrot mush into his mouth and doesn't bother to hide a grimace. "Manners," the ferret attempts lightly. Andrew maintains eye contact with her and slowly spits it back out onto the plate.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself while her husband dutifully chews his chicken. He chews for a long time on one bite, Andrew notices. "Goodness, you're not very polite. I hope our child doesn't take after you," she says in a chastising tone.

Her version of a scolding is pitiable. Andrew will be history before that child ever arrives. He knows.

The next day, he breaks her favorite china dish and five minutes later he is back in the car.

—

"You didn't last," Kevin says, raising his eyebrows to give Andrew his best 'I'm disappointed' look. "Not even a full day."

Andrew ignores him and goes back to reading Neil a story book about a fox and a rabbit who are stuck in an endless game of hide and seek. Neil's eyes follow the rabbit across the page as it runs and runs and runs, dodging death by a hair each time.

Kevin huffs at being disregarded and falls dramatically onto their bed. "I'm gonna be adopted one day. You'll be jealous."

Kevin believes adoption is a dream come true. Andrew can't fathom why, not when they've all had their share of bad homes. Neil is probably the luckiest out of all of them, with his delicate curls and glowing blue eyes and tiny spray of freckles. The nice people always choose him. Andrew can't blame them, not when he looks like an angel.

"Gimme," Neil yanks suddenly, tearing the book. "I wanna see the rabbit! Andrew! Go _back!"_

But Andrew knows that Neil is really just a hellion in disguise. That's why Neil gets sent back often, more often than Andrew himself.

"No," Andrew says firmly, because if he doesn't teach him discipline, he will grow up and become a hell-raiser and bad things happen to hell-raisers. He knows because thirteen year old Camilo is one of them, and Camilo comes back bruised and bloodied all the time. The nice people never choose Camilo.

Neil kicks his ankle defiantly and juts out his lower lip. "Go _back,"_ he repeats petulantly.

Kevin scowls from the bed and Andrew stares at Neil, unimpressed. "No," he tells him. "I'm reading to you. You can go back when I finish."

Neil glares and crosses his arms, but sits quietly. Kevin gazes on with a look of wonderment. "You sound like an Adult, Andrew."

Andrew pauses, because no one in their right mind wants to sound like an Adult. Adults are stupid, angry beings who seemed to have skipped over their childhood phase because they seem to never understand the minds of children. Kevin realizes this a second later and corrects himself. "I mean, you sound older. People listen to you. Neil listens to you but not anyone else, except me, sometimes."

Andrew does not know what to say, so he merely shrugs. But Kevin is pacified and lays back down to stare hard at the off-white ceiling, like there's something besides the dust motes floating around up there.

He finishes the book with Neil, but he cannot forget what Kevin said.

That night, he dreams about a fox and a rabbit and a large black bird that swoops in and casts a dark shadow with its outstretched wings. He cannot remember for the life of him what it is called and resolves to find out in the morning.

—

"I'm a rabbit!" Neil yells as he careens around the small playroom, because he is a hell-raiser despite all Andrew's efforts. "I'm a rabbit and I run, run, run!"

Victoria cries when he knocks over her legos and Malachai sticks out his foot in an attempt to trip him as he runs past. Neil dodges it only to be snagged and spanked with a ruler by their resident Adult, Mrs. Simons. He is then sent to stand in the corner, and he gazes out with mournful eyes that win him no points from anyone but Andrew and maybe Kevin, who is listlessly bouncing a rubber ball off the plastered walls. He clearly wants to be outside, but this year has been uncharacteristically rainy and gloomy and summer will soon give way to autumn, so he likely won't see the sun for another six months because the Adults don't like to mop up their wet, muddy messes.

If only they let them out for a little while, Andrew thought, then Neil could burn off some energy and Kevin could play Exy to his heart's content and he might not feel so dull and dried up inside. It's an icky feeling that's been plaguing him lately, one that he can't seem to get rid of no matter what.

He examines his own legos. He's trying to build a plane but he's never been particularly artistic, and instead it resembles something akin to the letter 't', only with more arms than it should have. He pulls one off and the whole thing collapses.

Andrew sighs and settles his head in his knees, preferring to observe Neil's eyelashes and the way they stick in clumps while he's crying. Little droplets of moisture cling to the tips and fall off one by one as he blinks. The sleeve of his shirt is smeared with dried boogers and Andrew winces internally, making a note to wash them before Mrs. Simons notices and whacks him again with her ruler.

When his time-out ends, Neil teeters over to Andrew, still wiping tears, and settles on the floor with a _whump_ as his bony butt meets scratchy carpet. Kevin meanders over as well, tucking the ball into his pocket after a glare from Mrs. Simons is directed his way.

"Andrew," Neil whines, and Andrew offers him his own shirt sleeve so he can dry the tears still streaking down his face. Kevin, already tall for his age, crosses his arms protectively and glares at Victoria who is sticking her tongue out at Neil behind his back.

"Don't run anymore," is all Andrew says to him, and Kevin says nothing because it's not yet time for lunch.

Neil's face screws up in frustration, like he wants to scream, because he is only four years old and can't articulate the words for anger, hatred, desire to be anywhere but here where he is cooped up and stifled like a trapped rat. But Mrs. Simons is watching them closely so Andrew pats his shoulder and Kevin distracts him with building a car out of the legos, and Neil doesn't scream, not yet.

Andrew is glad for it, because he can feel his own headache building and knows it's time to sneak some aspirin from Mr. Davidson's office. Mr. Davidson likes to refuse them, because "children shouldn't do drugs", even though it's a medical pill and he has stacks and stacks of them in his back closet. Or at least, Andrew thinks those ones are aspirin, because Mr. Davidson also likes to stash them in little compartments in his desk and in the trunk of his car.

"Look," Neil tells Andrew proudly. "Me 'n Kevin made it, look."

Andrew looks and sees a car built out of red and green and yellow legos, because Kevin has always been good with his hands. It's small and sleek (or as sleek as a lego car can get), and Andrew bets it would go extremely fast if it were a real car. When he's old enough, he plans to get an expensive, showy car that will fly across highways like the ones in commercials, and maybe Neil and Kevin will tag along and they'll all go on a road trip. Maybe they'll even drive into the sunset.

Then Mrs. Simons is yelling at Malachai for hitting Yousef and Victoria starts crying again, and the illusion is broken. He blinks and the sports car once again becomes a conglomerate of colored blocks, and he is still in the dull playroom with screaming children and paint-peeling walls.

"I like it," he finally tells Neil, who beams. Kevin looks vaguely proud and starts playing with the hem of his shirt.

Mrs. Simons rounds up all the children and sends them to lunch. Neil hides his car under his shirt and takes it with him. Andrew knows he will eventually be caught, but for some reason he doesn't want them to dismantle the figure just yet so he doesn't make Neil put it back.

They are having potatoes and meatloaf, which contains more breadcrumbs than it does meat, and Noor won't even touch hers. Noor is nine and arrived a year ago when her parents died in a car crash, long enough for them to instill some religion into her, so she does not eat meat that has not been properly slaughtered. Ms. Garcia, the pinched lady who supervises their meals, takes pleasure in spanking her for it. More often than not, Noor cries during meals.

Neil grimaces at his steamed carrots and gives them to Andrew, who gives them to Kevin, who winces but eats them anyway because Kevin will be a professional Exy player one day and health is an unfortunate requirement. But Andrew isn't sure how nutritious their food is anyways, as he pokes at his rubbery meatloaf, and wishes that the men wearing suits who claimed to be there on behalf of some government food plan would come back.

"I want fruit," Neil laments loudly, and Andrew pinches his arm.

"Shut up," Ms. Garcia snaps irritably. "Eat what you have, Neil." And she smacks the back of his curly head. Neil whimpers.

Andrew resists the urge to lash out at her. He'd like nothing more than to kick her in every place it might hurt, but his body is scrawny enough as it is and he risks retaliation should he even attempt it. Ms. Garcia notices him stewing and scowls tightly, her face bunching up in a mass of wrinkles. The large mole in the center of her forehead pulls downward with it and a few kids snigger behind their hands.

Andrew stares at her and wishes she would disappear, wishes that he was eighteen years old with a license and a fancy sports car and Kevin and Neil in the back seat.

But rather than turning to fog she holds up her hand threateningly until Andrew turns back around to look sullenly at his plate and spoon lukewarm potatoes into his mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's been...five months since i last posted? yeah i never intended to leave it for this long but let's just say i experienced major writer's block after accidentally deleting the entire story. i kept trying to rewrite what i'd originally had and that didn't work out so well, so a lot of what will come is going to be entirely new content (not that anyone would know that).
> 
> i'm going to try to post updates closer together now, but a lot of the story still has to be written and school is starting up for me soon. i'll try to make the most of summer while it lasts!

There's a scraggly bush by the courtyard wall, ugly and dried out. Its scattered yellow leaves do little to hide its naked branches from standing out like a deformed monster with too many arms. Andrew hates it with a passion, though he's not quite sure why. It might just be the fact that its ugliness rubs him the wrong way, or maybe it's because Neil has been oddly attached to it lately.

It grows in the sandy perimeter that surrounds the cracked, parched dirt of the enclosed courtyard, and no one ever bothers to water it or trim its branches. As a result, the bush is thick enough to mostly cover anyone crouched behind it despite its lack of greenery. Neil likes to hide there whenever they're let outside, and the Adults can't be troubled to force him away though for once, he wishes they would.

The weather recently has taken a turn for the better—well, they may be roasting alive in temperatures easily soaring into the hundreds, but at least it's stopped raining and started behaving more like summer. The kids have been turned loose to the courtyard in hopes of them burning off enough energy so that they'll settle down later.

It mostly seems to be working. Victoria has roped Tom and Malachai into a game of tag, and a few others join them as it gets progressively wilder. Camilo lurks against the concrete barrier and snaps at Noor when she wanders too close. Kevin is darting back and forth, lobbing his stolen rubber ball at the wall and attempting to catch the rebound before it hits the dirt. He makes sure never to stray far from where Andrew and Neil sit, glancing at them every couple minutes to make sure they haven't budged.

They probably won't budge until it's time for them to go back in, Andrew thinks in irritation. Neil has taken up his space behind the bush and is scraping a shallow hole at the base of the wall with a snapped stick. Andrew sits next to him out of necessity, and wonders what Neil is attempting to do.

He's too stubborn to ask and Neil is too engrossed to notice the pointed questioning looks Andrew keeps tossing his way, so they sit in silence for another five minutes without a word. He sighs loudly and breaks off little bits of twig one at a time, hoping the constant snapping will draw Neil's attention. Neil just hums a little to himself, something entirely off tune.

Andrew sighs even louder and rocks back and forth on his heels. His legs are starting to hurt from crouching, but he's reluctant to dirty his pants by lowering his butt to the floor. Neil sits criss-crossed, clothes pressed in the sand without worry. It bothers Andrew. A lot of things are bothering Andrew, actually.

Kevin misses his ball and it bounces near Andrew's head. He glances at it, then back up at Kevin, who holds his hands open in a silent request. Andrew grabs for the ball and immediately loses his grip. It bounces and hits Neil on his bony knee, and Andrew pauses for a moment to see if he'll react.

He doesn't.

Andrew sighs his biggest sigh yet and tosses the ball back to Kevin, who fumbles with it and has to chase it to the opposite end of the courtyard. Neil's stick scratches at the dry sand.

"Neil," Andrew says, unable to hold it in any longer. "What are you doing?"

Neil doesn't bother looking up. "Digging a hole."

"Oh," Andrew replies, but it wasn't as satisfying a response as he'd hoped it would be. He waits a few seconds. "Why are you doing it here?"

Neil looks up at him now. He waves a small hand at the ugly bush. "So they can't see me."

Across the courtyard, from under the slight overhang of roof that provides a sliver of shade, Ms. Simons wipes her sweaty brow with a handkerchief and glares hatefully out at the small mass of children. Andrew watches her and feels the tiniest bit bad about hating the bush.

Neil still hasn't answered the most important question— _why_ he's digging a hole, but Andrew is too stubborn to ask any more. Neil just has to tell him himself, but he doesn't seem to be taking the hint.

Kevin returns just then with his ball and trots over to crouch behind the bush with Andrew and Neil. He stares for a few moments without saying anything, Neil's scratching stick the only noise aside from Victoria screeching like a banshee when Malachai yanks her ponytail. Kevin scratches his cheek and shifts his weight from one leg to the other. "What are you doing?" He asks curiously.

"Sitting," Andrew replies boredly.

"Digging a hole," Neil says.

"Oh," Kevin shrugs. "Why?" Andrew perks up and leans in a bit closer to catch Neil's answer.

"So I can make a tunnel under the wall and we can run away," Neil replies matter-of-factly.

Kevin raises an eyebrow. Andrew looks at Neil's hole. It's about two inches deep, and with every stroke of the stick, more sand falls in from the sides to take its place. "It doesn't work like that, Neil."

"Yeah it does," Neil replies immediately. "You just have to dig." He waves his stick to emphasize his point and Andrew leans away from the flecks of sand that go flying from it.

"It might be better if you used your hands," Kevin points out helpfully, scooting closer to the hole. Andrew shoots him a dirty look for siding with Neil, but Kevin barely notices. "It would be faster, see?" He digs his fingers into the groove and pushes outward. Just like that, the hole's gone from two inches to four. Progress.

"It's a stupid idea," Andrew puts in.

"But I don't want to get sand under my nails," Neil says, ignoring him. A little rush of betrayal shoots through Andrew, and he scowls at Kevin's back.

"Well, using that dumb stick takes too long," Kevin says. He plucks it from Neil's hand and tosses it aside so that it skitters out from behind the bush and slides halfway across the courtyard. Neil lets out an indignant squawk and scrambles to retrieve it.

Kevin resumes digging with his hands, and Andrew taps on his shoulder in annoyance. "Stop doing that."

Kevin swivels his head to squint in Andrew's general direction, half-blinded by the sun. His short braids whip around and slap lightly at his cheek, and Kevin pushes them back distractedly, smearing dirt on his sweaty face. "What?"

"It's stupid." He gestures toward the hole. "Neil thinks he can dig a hole under the wall."

Kevin just stares at him like he's waiting for Andrew to get to the point. Andrew rubs his elbow in frustration. "We don't even know how _deep_ it is," he emphasizes. It's more than just that, really, but Andrew can't articulate it into words. Something about what Neil's doing just rubs him the wrong way, and Kevin's support isn't helping.

"So what? We just keep digging until we get to the bottom," Kevin replies, like that's the answer to the entire thing. It's not.

It's _not_.

Neil returns then, glaring and dragging his stick behind him so that it leaves a faint trail in the dust. "You're so stupid, Kevin!"

"No I'm not," Kevin replies calmly, scuffing at the hole with his heel now. "Look how much deeper I already got it."

It's maybe six or seven inches now, and they're still hitting dry sand. They'll probably hit a concrete floor eventually, Andrew thinks sourly, and then Neil would see how ridiculous his idea was. Right now, though, Neil looks excited. He tosses his stick down (never mind that he only just got it back) and gets down on his hands and knees to peer closely at it. "Wow! Andrew, look! Hey, you should help."

"No," Andrew frowns. "You guys do it. I don't even care."

Neil shrugs and starts clawing at the sand, and there's that tiny seed of treachery again. Andrew ignores it. It's stupid.

Mrs. Simons finally stands up from her lawn chair, still mopping sweat with her nasty handkerchief, and rings the shrill little bell she keeps tied to her belt. "That's enough! Everyone back inside, and wash yourselves before you even _think_ about touching anything!" She glances down in disgust at her dripping handkerchief and huffs audibly, dirty-blonde hair sticking to her forehead and frizzing out in the back.

Kids slowly start filing through the doors, and Neil looks back and forth between them in panic. "Guys! How do we hide the hole?"

"Why do we have to hide it?" Andrew asks incredulously. "It doesn't even look like anything, it doesn't even look like a hole yet."

Both Kevin and Neil turn scandalized faces to him and Andrew hurriedly backtracks. "I mean, no one can see it when it's behind this ugly bush. See?"

" _You're_ an ugly bush," Neil snarks back, crossing his arms, and Andrew is now officially betrayed.

Kevin turns around and rapidly breaks off several sticks from the dying plant before carefully arranging them over the hole. They stick out, brown and misshapen, like a hastily made bird's nest.

"It looks like a bird's nest," Andrew scoffs.

"Good," Neil says. "Now no one will be able to tell what it really is."

"Bird nests are in _trees_ ," Andrew reminds him.

"Some birds make nests on the ground," Kevin puts in unhelpfully.

"Oh yeah? Which ones?" Andrew challenges. He knows that some of them do, now that he thinks about it, but he can't admit that now.

Kevin shrugs. "I don't know. But I've _seen_ them."

"Well, _no_ bird would make a nest here," Andrew says. "It's not even a good spot."

Neil opens his mouth to argue, but then Mrs. Simons is shouting at them angrily, face red and blotchy, and fast approaching, so Andrew grabs his hand and together with Kevin they dart around her and duck inside the doors, the sun disappearing and the gray swallowing them back up again.

—

There's a small joint library attached to the Home, open to both the building residents and the occasional neighborhood child, though outside visitors are rare.

It's a cozy place to retreat in the evenings, dimly lit with beanbags and lamps so that if you wanted to curl up and read in one until curfew, you could. Andrew likes to go there with Neil and Kevin so that he can read his books, and Kevin can do his minimalistic first grade homework while Neil looks at picture books and plays with the stuffed plushies scattered on the floor.

It's run by Ms. Laghari, an old Indian woman in her late forties who's taken a liking to Kevin especially and makes sure to order him the latest Exy issues so he can keep up with the sport. She's missing her two front teeth and already speaks with an accent so thick that it's hard to understand her at all, but they manage to get by with nods and hand gestures, most of the time.

Andrew's not sure who messed up and hired her, because she's definitely too nice for the standards the Home has set for its employees, but they're all happier for it. She fusses over them like they're her kids and sneaks them candy when no one else is looking, so he's not complaining.

Oddly enough, Camilo the hell raiser also seems to enjoy spending time there, because he's sulking in a corner or huddled over Ms. Laghari's desk whispering to her in low tones almost every time they go. They skirt cautiously around him today and head for the beanbags; Andrew and Neil climb into one together to read a story and Kevin sits nearby at a low table to do his work.

"Read me a book about birds tonight, Andrew," Neil says seriously, intertwining his fingers in the cheap cotton of Andrew's shirt.

Andrew eyes him suspiciously. "Why birds?"

Neil just shrugs innocently and Kevin snorts, refusing to meet Andrew's narrowed stare. "Is it so you can figure out how to make your stick pile look like a bird's nest?"

Neil grins impishly and sticks his tongue out before tilting his head upside down over the bean bag and laughing. Kevin hides his own laughter behind his fist and presses his pencil down on his paper to make it seem like he's writing. Andrew doesn't find it funny, and Camilo shoots them a dirty look from across the library.

Andrew pokes Neil's side impatiently until he sits up straight. "Shush."

"You shush," Neil returns, and starts up with the giggling again until Andrew folds his arms and refuses to look at him until he quits. Neil seems to realize the actual reading won't begin unless he's quiet, and eventually stops squirming long enough to apologize.

"You have to go get the book now if you want me to read it to you," Andrew tells him uncompromisingly, still annoyed by the laughter at what feels like his own expense. Neil heaves a big sigh but jumps down from the beanbag and scurries to retrieve it. Camilo sends them another nasty look before slinking out of the library, and Andrew isn't sorry to see him go.

Neil comes back with a hard-cover book literally half his size (and consequently half the size of Andrew as well), dragging it along beside him and nearly dropping it as he clambers back up onto the beanbag. Andrew watches his struggle for a few moments before snatching the book and hauling it up to his lap, and Neil quickly settles himself into Andrew's side.

He looks at Andrew expectantly, and Andrew exhales slowly as he peers down at the cover and slowly sounds his way through the large print. "Every—everything...to Know...About...Birds."

Neil appears impressed by that show of literacy, and eagerly turns the book to the first page. It starts off by stating that birds are mammals, and that not all birds can fly, such as penguins and chickens—

"See?" Kevin says smugly, looking up from his math homework. "I told you that some birds have nests on the ground, I _told_ you!"

"Penguins can't live where it's so hot," Andrew fires back at the same time Neil says, "Shhh!", and Kevin looks back down at his math page, chastised.

He goes on reading to Neil for a few more pages, stumbling over some of the larger words and skipping the ones he can't say altogether, and Neil is too absorbed in studying the pictures to pay much notice to how fragmented the reading is. Kevin finishes his own work at some point and is now flipping through an Exy magazine.

"Bird nests," Andrew reads the header of the page they're on, and Neil lets out a little gasp.

"Look at this one! Ours looks like that."

"No it doesn't," Andrew says, just to be contrary, but Neil isn't having it.

"No, you liar, earlier _you_ were the one that said it looked like a bird nest!"

"No I didn't," Andrew responds, knowing very well that he did.

"Riko!" Kevin cries suddenly, and they both look up.

He's on his knees, clutching an Exy magazine and staring at the open page in sheer reverence. There's a black and white picture of a boy on it, about Kevin's age, staring unsmilingly into the camera. He's holding a racquet in both hands, looking like he's caught between flinging it down and wanting to bash someone over the head with it.

"Who?" Andrew asks blandly, though he knows exactly who Riko is. Whenever Exy is brought up, talk of Riko is soon to follow.

Kevin looks insulted. "Riko Moriyama. His uncle _made_ Exy. Him and that lady, Kayleigh Day. Riko's gonna be the number one striker in the _world_ one day, did you know that?"

"Really?" Neil asks, abandoning Andrew on the beanbag and sliding down to join Kevin. They're both unfortunately stuck on Exy as much as Andrew dislikes the sport. He dislikes most sports, actually. They're all sweaty and full of the physical contact he's already too uncomfortable with.

"They wrote about him," Kevin tells Neil, pointing at the picture. Neil pokes at Riko's cheek, then stares at his own finger in awe. "Oh wait, it's an interview."

"What's that?" Neil gets down on his stomach and leans his face in close to the picture, squinting at Riko's face.

"It's where they ask him stuff and he tells them the answers," Kevin says distractedly, tracing along the side of the page as he reads. "They're asking him—hey Andrew, they're asking him about his uncle."

"Cool," Andrew replies sarcastically, irritated that Neil isn't listening to him read anymore. He was actually finding the bird book interesting.

"Hey—hey, did you know Kayleigh Day died?" Kevin looks up at him with wide eyes, and Andrew rolls his eyes.

"So what? She's just a stupid rich lady."

"She died only a little bit of days ago," Kevin continues. "She got hit by a car."

"I thought you were looking at the interview," Andrew says disinterestedly, rolling over on the beanbag and shoving his face into it.

"I am," Kevin says. "They asked Riko about it and he said he was sad she couldn't be his coach anymore."

Andrew barely shrugs his shoulders in response. He hears Neil start to shift on the floor, probably bored of staring at the same page for so long when he could only read a few of the words, before asking Kevin to flip to where they showed the Exy gear.

"What about the bird book?" Andrew reminds him, voice muffled by the beanbag.

"Uhh," Neil hesitates. "Later. Can we check it out?"

Andrew sighs pointedly (he's been doing that a lot lately), and picks up the heavy book to drag it towards the check out desk. Ms. Laghari spots him halfway and kindly meets him in the middle to carry it back to her desk.

"You like birds?" She asks him, or at least that's what he thinks she said. Andrew nods his head vaguely, and waves at Neil.

"It's for him."

"Oh! Here." She scans the book before reaching into her desk drawer and pulling out three hard candies. "For you and for them."

Andrew puts out his hand and she carefully places them in his palm, closing his fingers securely around them when she's done. "Thank you."

Ms. Laghari smiles at him, crinkling her nose playfully and sliding the bird book towards him. "Yes. Come tomorrow night too."

Andrew smiles back. "Ok." He's not sure why she's telling him that, when they come back almost every night anyway. He pops his candy into his mouth and makes sure she sees him throw the wrapper in the garbage before hurrying back to Neil and Kevin and setting the bird book on Kevin's lap. "You have to carry it back to the room."

"Ok," Kevin says, but Andrew's not even sure he hears him because his eyes are still glued to the page containing Riko's six year old face. Andrew grimaces, and a newfound dislike of Riko Moriyama springs up within him.

He keeps quiet about it though, as they walk back to their room, Kevin carrying the magazine folded beneath his arm. Riko Moriyama's pampered, rich little life will never touch theirs, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was kind of a filler chapter, just to get me out of my writer's block, hence the reason why i wrote so much about digging holes and bird nests. it'll still tie in to the story (probably) but there's not a lot of action yet. it should pick up soon, and major events will most likely start happening in the next few chapters.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for taking longer to update this time, but at least it wasn't five months again :)
> 
> trigger warnings for non-con (no sexual content, but for someone being held down against their will).

It happens like this:

Kevin walks into the room one morning. Andrew looks up from his marbles. They're scattered all over the floor from the game he and Neil have been playing, flicking them with their fingers at other marbles and tallying up the points. Neil's not having much luck with figuring out how to flick hard enough and Andrew has had to save his marbles more than once from being launched across the room in a fit of impatience.

Kevin is nervous, twisting his hands in the hem of his shirt and looking everywhere but Andrew and Neil. He walks to the bed and sits down on it, inspecting his fingernails and shooting furtive glances at the colored marbles lying about. His eyes land on the green one in Andrew's palm and rest there.

"What did he say?" Andrew asks, following Kevin's gaze to the round piece of glass. It's a deep forest green with flecks of amber in its center, like Kevin's eyes.

Kevin shrugs uncomfortably, and yanks so hard at his shirt that a seam snaps. He freezes guiltily and looks down at the trailing string before fiddling with that, too. Andrew frowns at him hard.

"What did he say?"

Kevin pretends he didn't hear him and attempts to pull the loose string off. It makes a ripping noise and gets even longer, crinkling the seam of his shirt like a pulled drawstring bag, and Kevin lets out a whispered, "Damn it."

"What?" Neil asks loudly, because apparently he's a magnet for offensive words. Kevin looks even guiltier and Andrew glares holes through his head.

"Don't say it, it's a bad word, Neil."

"Ok," Neil replies, and flicks a marble too hard. "Damn it."

"Neil," Kevin starts.

"Damn it."

" _Neil_ ," Andrew warns.

"Damn it."

There's a resounding silence where Kevin hunches his shoulders like a turtle retreating into its shell and Andrew scowls at both of them and Neil, grinning like an axe murderer, curls his full lips around every syllable. " _Da—_ "

"Kevin, what did he say?" Andrew breaks in quickly.

Kevin starts, like he'd hoped they'd forgotten about it completely. He reaches up to tug at his braids, grimacing. "Mr. Davidson—Mr. Davidson, he said—"

Then he stops and looks at the ceiling like he wants to cry, and Andrew's heart does a weird flip-flop at the sight. He feels like he should be doing something, but his body just moves awkwardly and he ends up staying in place, tapping erratically at the carpet. He looks to Neil for a hint, some sort of clue, but Neil is only staring at Kevin, mouth lightly parted and eyebrows comically furrowed.

"Uh," Andrew starts. He stops.

Kevin's face screws up and his eyes water badly. He pulls so hard at his shirt that it stretches past his knees before shaking his head repeatedly back and forth. "No, nuh-uh, I changed my mind, I changed my mind, I don't _wanna_ anymore—"

"What?" Neil asks, bewildered, looking from Kevin to Andrew. "What?"

"Get _adopted_!" Kevin wails, and wipes furiously at his eyes.

Oh.

_Oh_.

Andrew's fingers slowly turn to ice and he frowns, until he realizes that his chest is doing the exact same thing. He panics momentarily and looks to Neil, but Neil doesn't seem to register anything alarming. It helps lessen it a bit, but now Kevin is making some odd combination of hiccuping and whimpering, and Andrew's feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

"Uh," he tries again, and talking makes it easier, a little. "Kevin?"

Kevin wipes at his eyes even harder, apparently furious with himself for crying, but he's still doing those hiccupy sobs and Andrew has no clue what to do. Neil finally seems to catch on that something is wrong, and starts crying too. He doesn't do it quietly, either, and Andrew really wishes everyone would shut up so he can process what Kevin just said.

He squeezes his eyes shut and plugs up his ears with his palms, but he can still hear Neil's bawling and Kevin's sniffling, and he thinks he might explode if it goes on for another second. He curls his legs in towards his chest and rocks back and forth, holding his breath so hard, he can feel his face turning a bright tomato red.

The noise doesn't go away, and the swelling sensation in Andrew's throat and lungs threatens to choke him. It's an awful feeling that he doesn't know how to explain, like he wants to gulp air down but is unwilling to open his mouth. He's never felt this way before, and it fascinates and terrifies him at the same time.

A particularly loud wail from Neil jolts him, and Andrew flinches violently. His body is reacting in strange ways to the chaos, and try as he might, he can't get control over it. It persists until he think he might start to cry, but common sense tells him that it'll only make things worse.

Instead, he fights the crumpling of his face and presses one palm over his eyes to stop any tears from leaking out. With his other hand he grips his green marble so that it digs into his skin, and something about its smooth roundness distracts him enough that he can get rid of the urge to bawl. He kicks his heels at the ground a few times in an attempt to loosen up and release the last dregs of tension before slowly opening his eyes.

Neil is still crying dramatically, mostly forcing the wails out now, but Andrew can tell he's faking because he's laying out on his stomach and inspecting a clear marble. Kevin has mostly stopped and has his face stuffed into a pillow, probably embarrassed. Neither of them seem to have acknowledged the turmoil Andrew just went through, and he wonders if he just imagined the entire thing.

He exhales slowly and reaches over to give Neil a little shove. "Shut _up_."

Neil makes an ugly face at him but shuts up, wiping his tears on his shirt sleeve and waving his marble in the air in some sort of game. "You can't play with me, Andrew."

"I don't care," Andrew returns, even though he does care, a little bit. He'll probably regret saying that later, but right now he needs to question Kevin, because adoption is _permanent_. It means Kevin is leaving and never coming back, but Andrew doesn't want to think about that because it will make the suffocating feeling come back again.

Kevin peeks one eye over the pillow at him and then stuffs his face back in. Andrew gets to his feet unsteadily and walks over, plopping down beside him on the bed and slouching his back. He knows he's not supposed to, because Ms. Laghari said so, but he's either feeling rebellious or he just doesn't have the energy to keep it upright. Andrew decides it's rebelliousness.

"Kevin," he says simply, and then quiets because he's not really sure what else to say.

"What?" Kevin asks, voice nearly smothered.

Andrew stares at his fingernails. "I don't know." His chest is getting all achy again, and he kicks his legs against the bed stand.

"Ok," Kevin replies in a small voice. He still won't take his face out of the pillow.

Neil looks up from his game. "Are you guys gonna cry again?"

"No," Andrew tells him as incredulously as he can, but there's a waver he hopes Neil doesn't catch.

"Ok," Neil says seriously. "Because I have to cry too if you do and it will mess up my game."

Kevin laughs a little at that and glances at Andrew, who frowns in confusion. It really _will_ mess up his game. But he senses that Kevin might be ready to talk know, and decides to ask the question he's been curious to ask.

"Who's adopting you?"

Kevin's face slowly falls and Andrew thinks he might hide behind the pillow again, but instead he twists his fingers in his shirt and answers. "I heard about them in Mr. Davidson's office. They're nice."

"Who are they?" Andrew presses.

"Mr. Jackson and Mrs. Jackson and their daughter whose name is Tasia, I think. They're nice."

"They're nice?" Neil repeats absently, rolling one marble around on the floor and chasing after it with another one.

"Yeah, that's what Mr. Davidson said," Kevin says, and gives Andrew a funny look. "But I don't _wanna_ go with them, I wanna stay _here_ —"

"Don't cry," Neil warns.

"I'm not," Kevin replies irritably.

Andrew is busy staring at Kevin. "But you always say you want to be adopted."

"Well, now I changed my mind," Kevin says defensively. "I want to stay with you and Neil."

"Don't cry," Neil puts in, and Kevin turns to scowl at him.

"Shut _up_."

"Damn it," Neil shoots back, and Kevin stills, beaten.

Andrew studies the green marble in his hand. It catches the sunlight from their tiny window and sparkles furiously, throwing emerald shafts of light onto their gray wall. He glances up at Neil's fiery hair, wheat gold highlights catching the rays, and at Kevin's eyes, a mirror reflection of his glistening marble. "What are you going to do?"

Kevin sighs heavily and flops backwards onto the bed, out of the shafts of sunlight. "Pack all my clothes."

"You're leaving?" Neil asks disbelievingly.

"He's getting adopted," Andrew reminds him.

"He _is?_ " Neil looks shocked.

Kevin laughs a little again and Andrew grins to himself a tiny bit. It doesn't make the situation any better but even he can't suppress his own weak sense of humor.

"Are you lying?" Neil asks with narrowed eyes.

"No," Kevin replies. "I'm leaving tomorrow. You guys have to finish digging the hole."

"The hole?" Andrew stares at him, bewildered by the sudden change in subject. Then he remembers. "Oh, the one that looks like a bird nest."

"That one," Kevin nods, and looks at Neil seriously. "And remember, you can't let anyone find out."

"Got it," Neil says, and gives him a thumbs up. He drops his marble in the process and immediately goes after it on his hands and knees as it rolls away.

There's something else Andrew wants to do though. He reaches out and taps Kevin's arm, twice. Kevin looks at him and Andrew holds out his green marble.

Kevin squints at it uncertainly before squinting at Andrew's face. "It's pretty."

"Yeah," Andrew replies impatiently. "Here."

" _Here?_ " Kevin parrots, squinting even harder. It's understandable, Andrew reasons. He doesn't simply give away his marbles. He'll admit, he's not very keen on the idea of losing one of his favorites, but he'll also feel better knowing Kevin has it. It's not really something he can explain.

"Yeah, it's for you," Andrew manages, wincing a little as he places it in Kevin's hand.

"To _keep?_ " Kevin presses, clearly not buying it.

"...Yes," Andrew says firmly, steeling his resolve. "So don't lose it."

Kevin blinks owlishly down at the marble and back up at Andrew, head tilted to one side. Then suddenly he grins and Andrew feels warm arms close around him tightly. "Thanks."

Andrew is frozen for only a moment before he returns the hug, covering his own smile in Kevin's shoulder. "You're welcome."

It's the nicest thing he's felt in a long time.

—

Kevin leaves the following morning, and unsurprisingly, Neil cries.

Andrew doesn't, of course, except for the one or two sniffles that escape him when he's not paying attention. They're allowed to follow Kevin to the front doors of the Home, where a social worker waits to drive Kevin to the restaurant his new family wants to meet him at. Neil hangs on Kevin's arm the entire way, crying loudly, and they're lucky Mr. Davidson is in a pleasant enough mood not to send them away early.

Kevin has all his things tied up in a big black garbage bag, since suitcases are apparently 'an unnecessary waste of money' the Home can't be bothered to invest in, not when half the children who leave are returned within a few months. His green marble, though, is tucked away in the pocket of his jeans, and he fishes it out to present to Andrew before he goes.

"I won't lose it," he promises. "I'll keep it with me all the time, even when I take a shower."

"But what if you drop it down the drain?" Andrew can't help but voice that one concern, and Mr. Davidson snorts audibly. They all ignore him.

"Oh," Kevin pauses. "Well, I'll just take it into the bathroom with me."

Andrew nods in approval, and the social worker puts a hand on Kevin's shoulder. "C'mon kiddo, we don't want to keep your new family waiting."

Kevin nods dully and detaches Neil from his leg. Neil screeches like a banshee in response and Andrew hurriedly yanks him to his side before he can kick up more of a fuss. The social worker leads Kevin away towards the car waiting outside and he follows behind, black garbage bag bumping along over the uneven cement parking lot.

Right before Kevin gets in, he turns around and waves. Andrew waves back slowly, and Neil drags a snot covered arm away from his nose to flap a hand in his direction. Then Kevin gets in the backseat, the car starts, and just like that Kevin is gone.

It's surprisingly anticlimactic.

Mr. Davidson fidgets awkwardly for a full minute as Andrew and Neil both stare at the cloud of dust the car leaves in its wake, neither of them interested in going back to their room so quickly. Andrew grips Neil's sweaty palm until he quits heaving, although salty trails of tears still cut lines across his face.

"Alright boys," Mr. Davidson says hurriedly, smiling his usual scary smile. He has too many teeth and too thin lips, and it makes him look like any minute he could bare his gaping chasm of a mouth and swallow them whole. "You said your goodbyes, and now it's time for you to run along. Don't worry, I'm sure _your_ time will come eventually."

"No," Neil replies bitterly, and alarm bells go off in Andrew's head. Neil never knows when to keep quiet. "No, damn it, I'm staying here and _never_ leaving."

"Neil!" Mr. Davidson gasps in his phony Adult voice. "Shame on you! Do you need your mouth washed out with soap?" He takes a step towards them, and suddenly he's looming. Andrew grabs Neil's arm and tugs him away, immediately taking off towards their room.

"We're going back to our room now!" He yells back towards Mr. Davidson. He can almost picture the way he's probably standing, arms crossed and head cocked to the side, one loafer-clad foot tapping out a threatening rhythm on the carpeted hallway floor. Andrew doesn't dare look back to check.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The soap at the Home tastes awful.

—

It's quiet like usual for the next few days after Kevin leaves, besides the fact one side of their bed is cold and the seat across them in the breakfast hall is strangely empty. Neither of them can stand it, and both are visibly affected.

Neil is whiny, whinier than usual. He cries over everything—cries over getting dressed, over brushing his teeth, over the fact that his hole in the ground has only gotten two inches deeper. He cries before they fall asleep and wraps his arms around Andrew in a way that's mildly uncomfortable. He especially cries when they find Kevin's dollar store Exy stick behind the dresser (Andrew's not sure how Kevin left without it), and starts sleeping with it in the bed every night.

Andrew just grows more sullen. He's always been told he's an unusually quiet child by the more uptight Adults, but now Ms. Garcia warns him that he's becoming more like Camilo, and does he want to be trapped in the system for years because no one wants a surly brat who never smiles and laughs like a normal child—

Andrew ignores her because he _does_ smile and laugh, just not around people like her, and definitely not when Kevin is gone.

But even if he and Neil change, the Home doesn't. It stays the way it's always been, dreary and monotonous without any sort of in between.

Until one day, it doesn't.

Two major events happen consecutively in the week following Kevin's absence, each shaking up the Home in ways Andrew never thought possible.

First, Noor, the girl with the weak lungs and the horrible cough, dies. It happens at breakfast, when she's sitting to the left of Camilo. One moment, she's eating a bowl of raisin bran, and the next, she's hacking up her lungs onto the wooden tabletop.

No one reacts at first, because coughing fits are a common occurrence. Ms. Garcia just raises a mildly irritated eyebrow when it persists for more than thirty seconds. Andrew and Neil barely look up from their fruit loops, because Andrew is wondering if he can somehow sneak another bowl and Neil is busy pushing all the blue ones to one end of his bowl so he can save them for last.

No one reacts, not until Noor slumps forward in her chair, face plunging into her residual milk. Not until Camilo leaps from his chair with a horrified, "What the _fuck?!_ ", his expression aghast and his hands held up as if to ward off the sight.

Not until Ms. Garcia scrambles to her feet and rushes over, pulling the girl's face out of the puddle of milk and reaching for her throat to check for a pulse. The entire breakfast hall has gone dead silent, watching the spectacle play out before them with a surreal quality.

Neil is staring open-mouthed, tight little wrinkles on his brow betraying the fact that even he knows something is completely wrong. Andrew is looking back and forth from Noor's still body to Camilo's shell-shocked expression. His bronzed skin has taken on more of a grayish tinge and his black eyes darken even further with some kind of disturbed emotion Andrew can't identify.

Ms. Garcia's fingers flutter around Noor's neck, her severe mouth tightening into a non-existent line. She looks wildly around the breakfast hall before her eyes come to a halt on Camilo.

"Go get Mr. Davidson!" She snaps. "Tell him to call an ambulance!"

But Camilo can't seem to tear his eyes off of Noor. He doesn't even appear to have heard anything Ms. Garcia said, his face torn between appalled and fearful. Ms. Garcia reaches out and snags his collar, hauling him closer to her before rearing back and slapping him across the face. Camilo's head snaps to one side and he staggers back in shock.

"Go!" Ms. Garcia screams, spittle practically flying from her mouth, and Camilo turns tail and makes a beeline for Mr. Davidson's office.

No one else dares to speak as Ms. Garcia desperately attempts to do something with Noor. She's clearly got no idea what she's doing, and even from across the breakfast hall Andrew can tell the girl isn't breathing. He's not sure what it means yet, but it most likely isn't anything good.

"Andrew," Neil whispers uncertainly in his ear. "Is she okay?"

Andrew subtly shakes his head and continues to stare with wide eyes. At that moment, the resident nurse comes running in, followed by several other workers. She unceremoniously pushes Ms. Garcia out of the way, which Andrew quietly takes great pleasure in, before barking orders at the rest of the staff.

"Get the rest of the kids out of here! I need space to work!"

The workers quickly begin rounding up the children, and it's at this point that several of them start crying. None of the staff bothers to comfort them, more interested in herding them none too gently out the doors. A pinched-faced woman spots Andrew and Neil still sitting there and grabs them painfully by their upper arms.

Andrew can't help but let out a desperate yelp as his limb is pulled in its socket. Neil doesn't bother to hold back a scream, probably making it louder than necessary on purpose. The woman merely rolls her eyes and shoves them through the crowded doorway.

"My cereal!" Neil cries pitifully. He's ignored.

They're stuck in the middle of a group of wild children, many of them wailing and several of the older few yelling obnoxiously as they attempt to get back into the breakfast hall. Andrew tries to stand on his tip-toes to see over the crowd, but even then he's still one of the shortest in the group.

"Break it up! Break it up!" One of the workers is yelling. She shoves at the children angrily, trying to keep them from wriggling past her back into the breakfast hall. At this point, Andrew just thinks it's less of a desire to see what's going on and more of a desire to rebel. He would know, seeing that he feels similarly.

"She's dead!" An older boy yells suddenly. "Shit, she's dead!"

"Dead?!" Another girl says, aghast.

"She's not dead, dammit!" The woman snaps. "Break it up, get _back!_ "

It's then that things start getting physical. Several of the larger, male case workers begin dragging away the older children, grabbing them from behind and pinning their arms to their sides so that they can't flail around. One boy, who's about fourteen or so but built like a small tank, fights back, elbowing the man holding him in the stomach.

The man grunts before raising his hand and cuffing the boy hard around the side of his head. The boy drops instantly, stunned, and Andrew's blood runs cold. He's never seen anything like this before in the Home, because there's been rough hands and reprimands but there's never been _this_.

He feels Neil press into his side, gripping his forearm tightly with his small fingers, and Andrew registers that they need to get out of there, _now_. He begins pushing at the throng of kids but by this time they've become so entangled in the thick of it that it's impossible to break free, and Andrew is nowhere near strong enough to shove anyone out of the way.

The case workers continue to manhandle the kids and the more violent they get, the sharper the fear and panic grows. Jess, a tall fifteen year old girl lashes out at one of the men with her nails in desperation, and in return he throws her against the wall. A six year old boy is knocked off his feet, hitting his head hard. He doesn't move for a moment and an icy fear seizes Andrew at the way his eyes glaze over listlessly. He pictures himself lying there instead, limbs sprawled out uselessly and trampled by the feet of other children.

He doesn't get knocked down though. He _does_ get elbowed in the stomach by another kid, so hard that he doubles over wheezing, and Neil lets out a whimper.

The cereal Andrew just ate rises to his throat and threatens to spill back out the way it went in. He dry heaves, falling to his hands and knees and choking on his own saliva as a nauseated feeling churns his insides.

He wants so badly just to throw up and get it over with, but nothing comes out. Instead, another kid trips over Andrew's crouched form and lands on top of him, and he slams to the ground, the wind knocked out of him for a second time. Whoever it is doesn't get up right away, and Andrew feels an uncontrollable terror begin to grip him when he struggles to breathe and can't.

He flails blindly, but he can't get his arms underneath him to push himself up, and the weight on top of him seems to press down harder. Faintly, he thinks he hears Neil screaming something but he's not sure because of all the other ruckus.

And then the weight is gone. Andrew fights for a breath and is relieved when he can finally inhale. He rolls over onto his back and sees Neil pummeling someone with his tiny fists, his face screwed up and his jaw jutting out. "Get off! Get off!" He's repeating over and over, barely aware that Andrew is already struggling to his feet.

The perpetrator turns out to be Tom, the Tom who steals brown sugar from the pantry, the Tom who's now crying and kicking back at Neil's legs. God, Andrew _hates_ Tom.

He stumbles over several feet before reaching Neil again and pulling him away before Tom decides to toughen up and actually fight back. Neil scowls fiercely at the fallen boy, hands still balled into tiny fists, and Andrew can't help but be impressed by how Neil handled that, despite his short stature.

"I hate you," Neil spits nastily at a whimpering Tom. "You can't hurt Andrew."

"It wasn't my _fault—_ " Tom begins, but that's all he gets out before he's yanked to his feet by a harried female worker and dragged out of the fray.

Neil looks up at Andrew, his bright blue eyes still burning. "I hate Tom," he says.

"Me too," Andrew reassures him. He sucks in a few more deep breaths to steady himself and slow his pounding heart. Neil notices and copies him.

The kids finally start to disperse on their own, the older ones taking off down the halls and the younger ones hastily led away by the calmer workers. It's still chaos, though, which is why when Camilo finally reappears around the corner, Mr. Davidson in tow, he's caught by an enormous man and held fast.

Mr. Davidson barely bats an eye as he shoves his way through the remaining mob into the breakfast hall, and through the gap Andrew spies Noor's bluish face, head lolling back at an awkward angle as the nurse taking care of her visibly panics. Then the gap closes again and Neil lets out a strangled cry just as Andrew turns to see Camilo wriggle free and punch his captor in the nose.

The few older kids who remain all let out a shout, a few of them jeering wildly. Andrew pulls Neil back towards one of the hallways leading away from the breakfast hall, but something keeps him watching the spectacle unfold rather than running like the majority of the children back to their rooms.

The older man lets out a startled curse, clutching his bloodied nose with one hand and reaching for Camilo with the other. Camilo stumbles back out of his grasp, breathing heavily and wringing out his hand as his narrow eyes glance frantically around for a way out. He catches sight of the hallway entrance where Andrew and Neil still stand and staggers toward it.

The man abandons his gushing nose and lunges furiously, grabbing Camilo's shoulder and yanking him back. Camilo lets out a pained yelp and slams his good hand desperately into the man's stomach, kicking desperately at his shins in a futile attempt to get away. The man only looses a stream of curse words, face beet red with both blood and rage, and punches Camilo in the jaw.

There's more crazed yelling from the older crowd as Camilo crashes backwards against the wall, clutching his swollen face with injured hands. Neil tugs on Andrew's shirt, and when Andrew looks at him there are tears leaking from reddened eyes. "Andrew, please, let's go."

Andrew nods slowly but makes no move. He can't seem to make himself stop watching as the man approaches Camilo again, only for the boy to raise a swift knee right between his legs and immediately take off.

The man lets out an enraged shout and somehow manages to grab a fighting Camilo, forcing him to the ground and putting a knee on his back. He reaches for his belt and pulls off something metal and jangling—handcuffs, Andrew realizes. Camilo thrashes despairingly as another worker snatches his arms and twists them behind his back. The cuffs are snapped on and tightened, but the man seems content to keep Camilo pinned beneath him, swearing and gasping as the other workers look on, some of them savagely and some of them in shock.

"Fuckers," Camilo gasps, jerking his shoulders, half his face pressed to the scratchy carpet. "Fu—fuck—"

His pupils are blown wide and dilated, chest heaving as he struggles, voice raw with pain and tears. Andrew feels sick to his stomach. This has never happened before. This has never happened before.

"Andrew," Neil begs again, and this time he sounds so scared that Andrew forces himself to move.

He grips Neil's hand and pushes him towards their room, furiously denying the hot liquid that spills from his own eyes. This has never happened before.

They can still hear the shouting and grunting even when they're safely inside their room, hear Camilo scream obscenities as he's hauled off to god knows where.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That's the first event.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from here on out it'll probably just get angstier. not to say we won't have our fluffy moments, but they'll be fewer and farther between (sorry!)
> 
> i did some research before writing the last scene to make sure it wasn't grossly unrealistic, and it's sad to say that the things i found made my scene look tame. obviously not all foster care systems are bad but i was upset to read about the terrible conditions and events that take place in some. actually, the Home is based off of an incredibly shitty system i read about in california, with honest to god horror stories. so just know that whatever happens in my fic has happened in real life, and ten times worse than anything i will probably describe.
> 
> this chapter was originally meant to be longer but i didn't want to keep people waiting while my slow ass wrote the next part so i decided to just put out what i had now. by the way, if you can't tell, i really love camilo. he's one of my favorite ocs and he'll probably influence the story later on so i hope you guys don't mind him either!
> 
> on an end note, i'm not 100% satisfied with this chapter but like i said before, i wanted to put something out, especially before school starts. speaking of which, updates will likely come a little slower once it does, but i'll do my best to keep on track.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uhhhhh school has started and college applications are killing me so that's why there's been a lack of updates. there's also been a bit of writers' block so this is kind of a filler chapter to set up for future events. that aside, have this chapter while i get my life together and figure out what i'm doing with it.
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE: there is one incident in this chapter where a character uses racial and stereotypical slurs. please know that i don't agree with name calling of any sort.

The second event is just about as big as the first, though it's far less dramatic. No one finds out about it until the next day anyway, and it's mostly rumors whispered at breakfast.

Camilo has apparently run away.

The fourteen year old boy who was hit around the side of the head yesterday, Quintez, seems to know most of the story, given that he rooms with Camilo. "They were gonna take him to juvie," he says around a mouthful of toast. Most of the kids have gathered around him, listening intently. "For misbehavior n' shit. So he ran. Swiped the keys when no one was looking and got the hell outta this place."

The older kids are doing their best to keep the younger ones out of the circle, but Andrew and Neil have wiggled past and are huddled close to the bench so they can hear. "How'd he get out?" Neil blurts before Andrew can stop him. He winces, thinking they're about to get pushed out, but Quintez isn't even paying attention to them.

"How'd he get through security?" Jess asks, picking a scab on her forearm. "How’d he get past those, like, twenty guys?"

Quintez shrugs. “Never saw that part.”

Jess looks annoyed. “So how do we know you’re telling the truth?”

Quintez is grinning. “‘Cuz they sent him into our room so he could get all his shit—they were taking him somewhere, I think, juvie probably—and he somehow got the entrance keys off of the guy’s belt without him even knowing. Still had the cuffs on, and everything.”

Another kid snorts incredulously. “And he ran with his hands cuffed behind his back?”

“No,” Quintez says, flashing very white teeth. “I picked the lock. Forty-three seconds!” He says proudly. “Forty-three. And then we opened the window and he climbed out. Didn’t see him after that, but the two guys who brought him to the room came in a minute later, and they were _pissed_.”

There’s an a buzz of excitement spreading through the group. Neil tugs on Andrew’s sleeve, looking up at him with eagerness. “Andrew,” he begins, and Andrew cuts him off before Neil can ask what he thinks he’s going to ask.

“Shh.”

“ _Andrew_ ,” Neil says again, with a bit more urgency, but Quintez is still talking so Andrew ignores him.

“Makes you think,” Quintez says in a loud whisper, glancing around for Ms. Garcia. She’s over a few tables down, yelling at Tom over a bowl of spilled oatmeal. Andrew regards that scene with pleasure for a few moments before turning his head towards Quintez again.

“Makes you think,” Quintez repeats, nudging Jess. She smacks his elbow. “That maybe we could get the hell out of here if—if, y’know, we ever needed to. Actually, I got a buddy at school who lives a couple blocks down from here, and he was saying tha—”

Andrew is distracted from the rest of Qunitez’s sentence by a sharp jab to his side. He flinches and looks up at a glaring girl. “Hey! Get out of here!” She glances around briefly before redirecting her stare back to them. “And keep your mouth shut, hear?”

They’ve finally been caught. Andrew sighs and wiggles obediently out of the circle, pulling Neil with him. A few of the other older kids pause, watching them until they’re a good distance away before resuming with the whispers.

Neil gazes longingly at the huddled group. “So—so Andrew, if Camilo ran away, can we—”

“No.” Andrew interrupts. He knows it’s a bad idea. Maybe he can’t think of all the reasons right then, but it’s definitely a bad idea.

“But the  _hole_ ,” Neil stresses, and Andrew is so sick of that stupid bird nest hole that he wants to scream. But screaming would attract too much unwanted attention, so instead he chooses logic.

“Neil,” he says slowly, taking him by the shoulders. “The hole is going to take a million years to finish. We’ll be dead by then. Dust and bones. With worms in our brains.”

Neil looks disturbed.

Andrew continues. “And then even our bones will get eaten by beetles and then crawlers will take all the little pieces that didn’t get eaten and crumble them up into little specks. And then we’ll turn into nothing and our bodies will be spread all over the place inside of bugs’ stomachs. And _then—_ ”

“Okay, nevermind!” Neil says hurriedly. Andrew almost grins triumphantly, but then Neil’s face crumples. “I just wanted to run away so we could go see Kevin.”

Oh.

There’s a tiny little crushing piece of guilt now, in the pit of Andrew’s stomach. He rubs it uncomfortably. “Um, well—well, if we stay here, we won’t have to dig the hole. And it won’t take us a million years because we’ll only have to wait until we’re eighteen. And then we can go see Kevin.”

Neil doesn’t look any more heartened by that. “But eighteen years is a lot, isn’t it?”

“Um,” Andrew says, and it occurs to him that even _he’s_ not entirely sure how many more years it will be until they turn eighteen. But Neil is looking at him with those eyes that say he’ll definitely do something loud and stupid and probably bad if Andrew doesn’t give him an answer he wants.

“No,” Andrew decides firmly. “It’s not a lot. I mean, I don’t _think_ so.”

Neil sighs. “Okay, fine.”

It’s then Ms. Garcia finally turns around and notices the cluster of kids, and Andrew and Neil hurry to their seats before she rounds on them too. The older kids slink off to their respective places and Quintez scowls coldly at Ms. Garcia as she shakes a knobby finger in his face.

“Don’t be stupid! What do you think you’re doing? Planning?” She curls her lower lip out in distaste, her thinning gray hair coming loose from her bun. “Camilo won’t get far! We’ll find him and then he’ll go to juvie where he belongs! You want to go to juvie?”

“So you guys haven’t caught him yet?” Jess asks loudly, and smirks. Ms. Garcia’s brown skin flushes a deep red.

“Shut up,” she snaps. “I never said that.”

“Yes you did,” Andrew mutters quietly. Neil grins at him.

“Yes you did,” he echoes, only this time, much louder.

It goes quiet. Andrew stares at Neil, horrified. Quintez laughs into his fist as Ms. Garcia’s red face turns a dark, mottled purple.

“Neil!” She barks. “Come here.”

Neil’s olive-brown face goes a little pale at that, and the smile drops from his face. He slowly makes to get out of his seat, but Andrew grabs his arm and holds fast. He’s scared, more so than usual, of what she will do to him. It wouldn’t have been quite so terrifying, had the events of yesterday never happened. But they did, and Andrew doesn’t think he’ll ever trust any Adult again.

“Stay here,” Andrew whispers wildly in Neil’s ear. His heart is pounding. “Stay here. Don’t move.”

Neil barely nods, his eyes fixed on Ms. Garcia, whose eyes are getting more murderous by the second. She holds up three fingers. “Do I need to count?”

“No,” Neil says timidly, and at that moment, Quintez drops his milk glass on the floor. It shatters, glass shards scattering across the wooden floor and raising several shrieks from around the room. Ms. Garcia whips around, startled, and fixes Quintez with an enraged stare.

“You—”

“Whoops,” Quintez says, laughter in his voice. “I dropped my glass.”

Neil breathes out a little sigh of relief and slumps against Andrew as Ms. Garcia stalks towards Quintez instead. Andrew wraps his arms around him and squeezes. “Let’s go,” he whispers urgently, and pulls Neil to his feet. They stumble out of the breakfast hall as quickly as they can, and as they go, Quintez catches his eye and subtly winks.

—

November fourth rolls around, and Andrew turns six years old. There’s no birthday party, no fanfare, and he doesn’t get to bring cupcakes to his first grade classroom like other kids do. It’s disappointing, especially when he tells his classmates he’s six now and they look around the room expectantly as if they expect a cake to pop up in a corner.

Neil gets excited when Andrew informs him. “You’re the same age as Kevin now!”

Andrew shrugs a little, because he’s always felt the same age as Kevin anyway. “Let’s go to the library.”

There’s two reasons he wants to go, really; one is because he’s in the mood to read a book, and the other is because he knows if he tells Ms. Laghari it’s his birthday, she’ll give him extra candy. So he and Neil head down there, Andrew with his backpack that’s nearly as big as he is, because first grade apparently means you get homework.

Ms. Laghari looks pleased to see them. They’ve rarely been there since Kevin left, and Andrew’s nearly forgotten how much he’s missed it.

“Come here.” She beckons them over to her desk the moment they walk in the door.

“It’s my birthday,” Andrew says when they reach her, and Neil nods vigorously in affirmation.

“I know,” Ms. Laghari says, and reaches into her desk to pull out a sack of chocolates. Andrew’s eyes widen when she hands him the entire bag. “Share. You two share.”

Andrew nods, a slow smile creeping up his face. “Thank you,” he says, and half-raises his arms, automatically moving to hug her. Then he remembers Camilo’s swollen, bruised face and hesitates, smile dropping and arms retracting to his sides. Ms. Laghari frowns. “Is something wrong?”

He thinks that’s what she’s asking him but he can’t be sure. So he shrugs awkwardly, his arms hugging the crinkling bag of chocolate to his chest and stares at her. She’s got a little nose ring on the left side of her nose. Somehow he’s never noticed it before.

She gives him an oddly gentle look and makes to pat his shoulder, then stops herself a moment before from contact. “You go read now,” she says in her garbled speech, and Andrew nods and runs to the beanbag. Neil follows closely behind. He’s all leg, Andrew notices, skinny thighs and calves poking out from an even skinnier torso. Andrew feels stubby in comparison, even though he’s still got a few inches on him.

“A book about Exy,” Neil says when Andrew asks. “About Kevin playing Exy.”

Andrew pauses. “There’s no books about _Kevin_ playing Exy.”

Neil scrunches his brow. “Why not?”

“He’s not famous,” Andrew says knowledgeably, reaching from the beanbag to snag an Exy magazine from the low table. “You can read about famous Exy players. Like—” he wrinkles his nose, “—Riko Moriyama.”

“Kevin likes Riko,” Neil says brightly, perking up. “Read to me about him.”

Andrew sighs. “How about we read about a different famous Exy player? I can read about…” Andrew pauses and squints down at the name, “...Deego Garcee?” He’s not entirely sure he pronounced it right.

“Diego Garcia,” a voice says from behind him, and Andrew jumps.

It’s Quintez, leaning over a towering beanbag and grinning. He reaches over with one thickly muscled arm and snatches the magazine. “Hey, Bruce Lee,” he says in greeting.

“Give that back,” Andrew says heatedly, though he’s not really angry. Quintez has been mostly tolerable since the milk-glass incident, even going so far as to grant Andrew and Neil nicknames. Andrew doesn’t mind, but he’s not the biggest fan of his given title.

Quintez tosses it back and holds up a fist for Neil to bump. “Hey Miguel,” he nods seriously, and Neil punches his fist as hard as he can.

“My name is _Neil_ ,” he says sullenly.

“No,” Quintez continues, straight-faced. “You’re Mexican, right? All Mexican people are named Miguel.”

“ _Neil_ ,” Neil stresses.

Quintez fake-gasps. “Your mama named you wrong?”

Neil frowns at that before looking to Andrew in slight panic. “Did she—”

“No she didn’t,” Andrew says, quickly coming to his defense. “Camilo is from Mexico too, remember? His name isn’t Miguel.”

“Damn,” Quintez sighs. “I guess all Asians _are_ as smart as everyone says.”

“I’m _Korean_ ,” Andrew shoots back, pretending he doesn’t hear Neil’s excited whisper of _‘damn?’_. At least, that’s what Ms. Laghari told him he probably was. He’s still not certain of what that actually means.

Quintez shrugs. “Same thing, same thing.”

Andrew decides the best course of action at this point would be to ignore him. He settles himself in his beanbag, flips to Diego Garcia’s interview, and proceeds to struggle through the first sentence. Neil leans into his side and examines the pictures of the famous offensive dealer, who poses with an Exy racquet over his shoulder and a helmet tucked under his arm.

Quintez doesn’t leave, opting to remain behind them and fiddle with the staticky fabric of the beanbag. Andrew sighs because that means he’s bored and won’t leave them alone until he bothers them to his heart’s content.

He reads for a few minutes more before his prediction comes true, and Quintez starts messing with his hair. He pinches the white-blonde strands between his fingers, ruffles them up, and flicks the back of Andrew’s head a few times.

“Stop,” Andrew says monotonously, because if he gets too worked up, Quintez gets what he wants. “I’ll bite you if you don’t stop.”

“I wanna listen to you read,” Quintez says innocently.

“Don’t touch my hair,” Andrew says with the same tone. He resumes reading, and Quintez resumes toying with his hair. It takes all Andrew has not to give in and snap. Quintez is fourteen years old. Shouldn’t he be the mature one?

“Go play with Jess,” he tries, hoping to distract him. “Leave us alone.”

Quintez snorts. “I’m fourteen. I don’t _play_.”

“Go hang out with Jess,” Andrew clarifies, and Neil nods in agreement.

Quintez thinks about it. “Don’t feel like it.” Now he’s grinning again, intentionally trying to get on their nerves. It’s working.

Neil pipes up. “Well, too bad because she’s the only one who even likes you, because now Camilo’s in juvie and you’ll never see him again.”

It’s a bit of a heartless thing to say, even for Neil, but Quintez just snorts. “No he’s not. That’s just what they’re telling you.”

Andrew raises his eyebrows. “Mr. Davidson said they found him. He said he’s locked up and if any of us try to do what he did, we’ll go there too.”

“They’re just trying to scare you,” Quintez says patiently. Then he leans in close, like he’s about to reveal some big secret, and grins crazily. “He’s not in juvie. I saw him yesterday, sneaking around the school. We talked.”

“What?” Andrew asks loudly, shocked. “You did?”

Quintez’s smirk falters. “Hey,” he starts, suddenly nervous. He sends a sweeping glance around the library, but it’s mostly empty aside from Ms. Laghari whose eyes are glued to a book. “Hey—hey, you won’t say anything, will you? Keep your mouths shut about that. Shit, I shouldn’ta mentioned it..”

 _Andrew_ certainly isn’t going to talk. He nods vehemently, and then looks at Neil. “Don’t say anything, okay? It’s a secret.”

“Say anything about what?” Neil asks, looking up from the Exy magazine, and Quintez lets out a breath before holding out a fist. Neil taps it lightly.

“That’s my man,” he says, grin back in place, but Andrew suspects that Neil honestly had no idea what was just said.

“Anyway,” Quintez winks, sticking his hands in his pockets. “You two keep clear. Stay outta trouble. Don’t go to juvie, and don’t turn out like me.”

“We won’t,” Neil says absently, attention already turned back towards Diego Garcia. “Promise.”

Andrew gives him a half hearted two-finger salute, and Quintez strolls back out of the library after stealing a chocolate from Andrew’s bag. He’s a weird kid, Andrew thinks, to seek out the company of a six year old and an almost-five-year-old, but Andrew can’t really complain.

It’s nice to have someone looking out for them.

—

The weather gets progressively colder, dipping into the fifties and forties, and even when they’re allotted outside time, most kids just huddle in groups to keep out the cold. Neil is the only one who seems unaffected, simply bundling up in his ragged coat and embracing the chilly air with an enthusiasm Andrew can’t bring himself to match.

He spends most of his time outside wandering aimlessly, following Neil as he careens around the courtyard, playing his imaginary games. Occasionally Andrew will join him, but only if Neil pretends they’re wolves. Then they prowl around the courtyard wall and growl at anyone who gets too close, including Mrs. Simons. Andrew thinks wolves are probably his favorite animals.

Neil seems to have forgotten about his hole for the most part, though he infrequently runs over to check on it and attempt to dig a few inches deeper. But the ground is growing hard and solid, and he usually manages only a half-inch or so before giving up. He and Andrew will cover it up with sticks, and Neil won’t remember it again for another week or so.

The days are shorter, too, with the sun sinking back into the horizon hours earlier than in the summer, and Andrew and Neil turn in around seven o’clock on most days, at a loss for anything else to do but sleep.

At night, Andrew curls up and stares at the shadowy wall of the bedroom, and feels a heavy emptiness in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t know what it means, and he doesn’t have anyone to explain it.

—

Mutterings and hushed voices at the Home are nothing new, but Andrew swears they’ve grown more and more frequent recently. There’ve been developments—so slowly and subtly he hardly notices—but things are changing.

Familiar faces amongst the staff dwindle and new faces appear, big bulky men with creased faces and hard eyes, and stony faced women that look like they’d be better suited for military work. Workers patrol the hallways and loiter by the doors, and Andrew gets the distinct impression they’re being caged.

At the same time, the quality of the already subpar food decreases. Portions diminish bit by bit and any meat they might have once received mixed into their food vanishes. Andrew’s hungry more often than not, except on the days where the state’s health department comes around for checks and the Home pulls out all the stops. The government workers question the kids, but they’ve all been appropriately threatened beforehand, and the trouble-makers are quietly sent off to perform some menial task to keep them out of the way.

And then there’s the most disquieting change—the ways that the staff looks at Andrew and Neil. It starts off as hushed conversations that halt whenever they think Andrew or Neil might be in earshot, but then it transitions to narrowed glances and considering stares from the Adults as either of them go about their ways.

It’s nerve-wracking and uncomfortable, and there’s no explanation for it until one day Mr. Davidson beckons them over on their way to the breakfast hall. He’s smiling his scary teeth smile, but he looks anything but friendly.

“Hi, boys,” Mr. Davidson begins, and squats down so he’s at eye-level, creasing his pressed gray slacks. He looks bad, Andrew thinks, sallow faced and hollow eyed, mousy brown hair thinning terribly. There’s a smell to him, sharp and medicinal like the nurses’ room that they all visit on occasion. Andrew holds his breath and Neil twists up his face in discomfort. “Someone is here to talk to the two of you, about Kevin. You remember Kevin, don’t you?”

Frankly, Andrew is surprised Mr. Davidson remembers Kevin. Neil lets out a small gasp. “Kevin? Is he here?”

Mr. Davidson’s expression looks comically pained. “No, he’s not. We just need to ask you boys a few questions, okay?”

Questions are never good, Andrew’s learned early on. But it’s also worse to refuse to answer them, so he nods reluctantly and they follow Mr. Davidson to a private room.

Inside, a shrewd looking woman sits at a low table. Two empty chairs fill the space across from her, plastic and square and brightly colored red, a sorry attempt to appear more kid friendly. Andrew’s insides squirm.

She nods at Mr. Davidson, who goes to stand in the corner of the small room, and motions at Andrew and Neil to sit down. “Come on, boys.”

Neil stares at the chairs apprehensively and takes Andrew’s hand. Andrew grips his fingers tightly and they both slide into the seats. Out of the corner of his eye, Andrew catches sight of Mr. Davidson frowning at their joined hands. “Neil, let go of Andrew’s hand. You’re a big boy, aren’t you?”

Neil ducks his head in a small nod and relinquishes his grip, avoiding Mr. Davidson’s critical gaze. The sudden lack of comforting pressure makes Andrew scowl, and he almost directs that look at Mr. Davidson but the woman across from them is speaking.

“My name is Dr. Smith. I work as a psychiatrist. Do you know what that is?”

Andrew and Neil both shake their heads dutifully, because the woman sounds like the type to explain even if they’d said yes.

She continues. “I talk to people who have problems with their minds. They’re confused about what’s real and what’s not, or they think the world is scarier than it really is, which makes them do things they wouldn’t normally do. Do you get it?”

If those are the people that psychiatrists treat, every single kid here should be lined up outside the door. Andrew nods his head and Neil copies him. He still doesn’t see what this has to do with them or Kevin.

“Good,” the psychiatrist beams, pulling back her lips in a thin smile she probably doesn’t mean. “I want to talk to you two about your friend, Kevin. You used to share a room, right?”

“Yeah,” Andrew replies slowly. “But why are you asking us about him if he’s not here anymore?”

“Dr. Smith is the one asking the questions, Andrew,” Mr. Davidson says in warning, and Andrew clamps his mouth shut.

“So the three of you were very good friends?” Dr. Smith asks, folding her hands on the table. Her black business suit does nothing to lessen Andrew’s nerves.

“Yes?” He replies, hating the way his voice goes up at the end. “Yeah, we are. Kevin’s our brother.”

“Wow, you three must have been very close,” Dr. Smith says. She doesn’t sound very enthusiastic.

“Andrew gave him one of his marbles,” Neil says seriously.

Andrew nudges him. Then, as an afterthought, “I did.”

Dr. Smith plows on, ignoring those comments. “How did Kevin act around the two of you? Was he very talkative? Or was he more quiet?”

“Quiet,” Neil answers this time. “Kevin doesn’t like to talk.”

The psychiatrist scratches her clipboard, and something about that action twists Andrew’s stomach. He doesn’t like it.

“What sorts of games did the three of you play together? What was Kevin’s favorite game?” Dr. Smith continues conversationally, though her pen is still poised above her paper. Andrew eyes it distrustfully before replying.

“We played, uh, marbles. And animal games sometimes. And Kevin liked, uh, Exy? He played it a lot outside. Neil played with him sometimes. And me.”

“Exy?” Dr. Smith asks, her eyes sharpening. “Hmm, I see.” She doesn’t explain what she sees, and Andrew is bothered.

The questions continue, random and jumbled with scarcely any relationship between them whatsoever. Andrew doesn’t know what she’s here for, or why she’s asking them about Kevin’s favorite books and hobbies and habits, but Mr. Davidson’s watchful gaze from the corner keeps him talking.

After every inquiry, Dr. Smith will write something down on her clipboard and Andrew wishes she’d quit. He feels like he’s being picked apart, only it’s Kevin they’re asking about, and his fate rests in Andrew’s hands to answer correctly.

Finally, Dr. Smith reaches her last question. “Did Kevin like fire? Matches, maybe? Did you ever see him carrying matches?”

Andrew gives her an incredulous stare, startled. “No? He didn’t—he never—Kevin never did that.”

“Me and Andrew don’t like fire,” Neil puts in helpfully, and Dr. Smith gives him an indifferent nod.

“Alright then, that’s it. Thank you boys.”

She stands from her chair and walks over to Mr. Davidson, then turns back to see them still sitting there. Mr. Davidson waves his hand at them dismissively. “The two of you can leave. Go on to breakfast, tell them you were with me.”

Andrew pauses, still struggling to determine the purpose of the interrogation, but an impatient look from Mr. Davidson gets him moving. He and Neil get to their feet and make for the exit. Dr. Smith looks back at Mr. Davidson and Andrew hears her say, “So the answers they provided gave no indication as to why he might have—” just before the door swings shut.

They stop outside the door momentarily and look at each other. Neil waits, his blue eyes earnest, for Andrew to say something. Andrew isn’t sure what to say. He waits.

Finally Neil shrugs. “Can we go to breakfast?”

“Yeah,” Andrew replies.

They go.

—

Nothing happens for another two weeks. Andrew and Neil duck their heads and go about their business as usual, and the strange looks from the staff peter out until they go back to ignoring them all together. November gives way to December, and California experiences a record cold snap that has the children packing themselves in coats and blowing steam into the air as they walk to school.

It would’ve been easy to forget about the odd conversation they’d had with Dr. Smith. Andrew’s teachers are piling on work in anticipation of winter break and he’s in the library filling out worksheet after tedious worksheet more often than not. It would’ve been easy to let the event fade away into obscurity like most other happenings did.

It would’ve been easy, except that on December twenty-third, at 2:49 pm, Kevin returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have more inspiration for the next chapter, so hopefully it will be up quicker, but we'll see how these next couple weeks go. wish me luck.


End file.
